


juliet at the transfer window

by ascience



Category: Football RPF, Men's Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Arsenal FC, M/M, Paris Saint-Germain F.C., transfer rumours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-02 06:54:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14539104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ascience/pseuds/ascience
Summary: Conjuring up transfer rumours is easy - Julian just has to hang out with the guy he’s a little bit in love with.





	juliet at the transfer window

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doubtthestars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doubtthestars/gifts).



> Here are some links you can check out before reading - it’s not necessary, but I’m referencing some of those stories in the fic:  
> [Sead's jersey](http://metro.co.uk/2017/10/14/julian-draxler-sends-arsenal-fans-into-meltdown-after-dropping-transfer-hint-on-instagram-6999465/) \- [Julian in London for the NBA](https://www.mirror.co.uk/sport/football/news/arsenal-fans-convinced-psg-star-11838162) \- [interview at the NBA match (German)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lbtN_N6zDco) \- [Sead's birthday](https://walkitin.tumblr.com/post/162025848506/larsstindl-happy-birthday-seo-u-legend)
> 
> Alright, have fun!
> 
>  
> 
> Edit: Oh, and for the stepover jokes - just take a look at [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VNK70iEfxJY). The title of this fic is, of course, a Romeo and Juliet reference. 

Julian’s worst habit is definitely that he reads the headlines that get written about him. He doesn’t go out of his way to do it, but he doesn’t avoid it entirely like some of his teammates do either.

He really should, but he’s always been too good at basing his self-worth on spite, which is probably not healthy, but easy to get from the tabloids.

Starting out anew at PSG, it was easier to ignore because he struggled with the French, but the more fluent he got, the more often he picked up the newest rumours just by walking past newspaper kiosks, as he used to in Germany.

And then there’s the internet comments, of course. _Come to this club_ or _come to that country_ or _my three-legged dog would have scored that goal_ and whatever else. Julian reads those, too, and he knows what people are like.

So yes, he did see the comments and tweets coming in after he posted the photo of Sead’s jersey in his story.

There had been rumours about Messi going to Chelsea just because he followed them on Instagram, and Julian really doesn’t see himself above that - especially not since the rumour industry has already been pretty busy churning out “news” about him going to Arsenal since his first day at PSG.

But to be entirely honest, Julian had racked his brain more about whether to add the heart or not than about what the fans would think, so the exact size of the reaction is a little overwhelming.

There’s a lot of people online welcoming him at Arsenal.

Like, a lot.

And just as many that are tagging Sead below his Instagram photos.

So many that Sead - instead of just texting him a winking emoji and letting it be like Julian expected - actually facetimes Julian that afternoon.

Julian nervously looks down at himself before he accepts the call, as if Sead cares one inch about whether Julian’s shirt is crumpled or his hair sticks out.

As soon as Sead’s pixelated face appears on the screen, he starts talking. He’s wearing a black Arsenal team jacket and with the way he’s leaning over the phone some of his curls fall across his forehead.

“You wanna tell me something?” he says over a couple of other voices chattering away in the background in English.

Julian slides a cocky smile on his face and pretends to think about it. “Hm, not really. Give me a hint.”

Sead laughs. “Apparently putting your friend’s jersey in your Instagram story is as binding as a contract in some cultures. Even coach didn’t know, but some lads on Reddit are _one hundred_ percent certain.”

“Don’t tell me Wenger actually said something about it.” Julian hides his face behind his free hand and groans. ”Please.”

“He didn’t.”

“Thank God. I figured people might jump on it, but not like that.”

Julian can’t follow the logic anyway. If he had signed with Arsenal, why would he have got a jersey that says Kolašinac on the back? That’s some straight nonsense.

But it’s obviously enough to send half of Arsenal twitter into a frenzy and Julian doesn’t have to look it up to know a couple more of those _Welcome Julian Draxler_ videos set to annoying techno music are going to pop up.

“You just attract rumours. Take it as a compliment,” Sead says.

“It’s not a compliment! It means I’m not good at PSG.”

“Or too good to be benched,” Sead objects and shrugs. Then a smirk starts to spread across his face. “I bet Arsenal wouldn’t…”

“Oh, shut up. Like, the post wasn’t even about Arsenal, it was about _you_.”

It slips out of Julian’s mouth like that. Sead must know, on some sort of level, but for a second Julian is afraid he revealed too much by saying it out loud.

Luckily, Sead gets distracted right that moment.

Somebody next to him, invisible on the screen, must have asked something, because Sead turns away from the phone. It’s English, but Julian can make out Sead grinning and replying in English as well, “It’s Julian. Draxler. You know.”

Then Sead sort of jumps and Julian swears to God, if he just mimed a stepover to jog the other person’s memory, he’s going to end Sead.

There’s some laughter and inaudible back-and-forth, before Sead finally turns back to Julian.

“Listen, I gotta head to team dinner now, but great catching up! Oh, and I’m glad the jersey arrived well and you cherish it enough to blow up the Internet with it.”

“Whatever,” Julian replies and tries to force himself not to blush, which he unfortunately has about as much control over as the rumour industry.

“You still owe me yours, by the way, Jule.”

It’s not that Sead doesn’t already have a jersey from Julian. Three, actually. One from Schalke and two from Wolfsburg, because they follow each other’s life, and from Julian’s point of view, it’s a good present for a friend.

His friend. His friend that - fuck - is not just a friend.

Well, to Sead they are probably just that.

But then again, Julian himself only realised way too late that you don’t dream about a _friend_ like _that_ , and he’s has always been insecure about making a move. So, sure, maybe he’s crazy hoping there’s still a chance that Sead is into guys (and coincidentally into Julian), but that won’t stop him from reading into things.

Like Sead asking for a PSG jersey.

“Right,” Julian says in reply. “Meet me in the Champions League then.”

“Okay, I get it. You’re playing hard to get. I have to earn it.”

“Something like that.”

Julian grins his widest grin at Sead and Sead nods like he’s long-suffering putting up with him. Which, fair.

“I really have to leave now,” Sead says then and waves his hand in goodbye. “Tell me when you decide to transfer.”

Julian manages to stick out his tongue before Sead ends the call.

Sure enough, the Arsenal rumours don’t die down. Julian doesn’t get near enough playing time for that and - for god’s sake - Neymar comes to Paris. So.

The fact that he keeps meeting up occasionally with Sead, Mesut and Shkodran doesn’t help either, probably, even if it’s just for coffee or national break whenever they can.

It’s the reason why Julian definitely hesitates when Sead invites him to the NBA match thingamajig in London. It’s exactly the type of event he loves, especially if he gets to hang out with Seo, but it’s a trip across the Channel, too.

“You know that if I even just show up in England now, the journos won’t be able to stop salivating?” Julian whines.

“They talk anway,” Sead says and laughs, “might as well give them reason to.”

And that’s that.

The two of them think over whether it’d be smarter for Julian to stay at a hotel or sleep on Sead’s couch paparazzi-wise and arrive at the conclusion that it doesn’t matter much.

Julian makes sure he does get to sleep at Sead’s and forgets to mention that flying to London and back without a sleepover wouldn’t kill him. Sead offered and Julian is really not above accepting.

Sead hugs him when he picks him up from the airport, and Julian only really notices how tensely he’s held his shoulder the past weeks when Sead’s hand slowly rubs across his back.

“Hey, Jule,” Sead says and takes Julian’s bag out of his hand, a gesture that somehow touches Julian. The bag is obviously heavier than he expected. “Ooph, what’s in this? Stones?”

“Hair gel.” Julian laughs. “Hey, Seo.”

“How long are you planning on staying?” Seo asks jokingly as he hauls the bag into his car.

Julian almost says, _As long as you’ll have me_ , but that just sounds like a headline on _transfermarkt.de_ again, so he settles on a classic, “Shut up.” and turns on the radio.

It’s Bosnian music, as far as Julian can tell, and he watches Sead mouth along to the lyrics now and then while they drive to the NBA match.

There are a whole bunch of other players at the event, like at the all-you-can-eat buffet in Ibiza every damn summer, and Julian doesn’t know why he expected anything different. Why wasn’t there a larger group of football players that was into staying at home and cross-stitching?

Shkodran spots the two of them before they spot him, and he walks up to them to hug them, along with Héctor Bellerín following.

“Oh, is he your plus-one, Sead?” Shkodran asks and reaches to mess up Julian’s hair, but luckily Julian manages to duck away. “I didn’t know we were allowed to bring arm candy.”

“Just because nobody wanted to ask you,” Sead replies and takes Julian’s hand for a moment, as if they were indeed a couple on the red carpet. Julian just hopes Sead doesn’t notice his sweaty hands.

They barely manage to greet Héctor and the other people that Julian knows by two or three degrees, before Shkodran, Sead and him get pulled into an interview.

It’s a German one, and it wouldn’t be noteworthy, if the reporter didn’t immediately ask about Arsenal. More precisely, about Julian signing with Arsenal.

Shkodran makes a dumb joke about it, carefree, but Sead answers weirdly seriously, like he prepared the answer.

He says something about how it’s Julian’s choice and smiles softly when the reporter turns to Julian for the same question.

“I like London, but mostly because of my best friend,” he nods towards Sead, “and because of my teammate Shkodran, but--”

“Oh, but _I’m_ not a friend?” Shkodran interrupts him fake-offendly, making all of them laugh. Julian has never been more grateful to know him, because after that he gets to mumble away on how he’s just here for the NBA, nothing more.

It’s the truth, but it feels a little bit like a lie.

“They’re serious, huh?” Sead comments afterwards, but Julian almost can’t concentrate on the words, because Sead leans in close, really close to him and hooks his arm over Julian’s shoulder.

He’s probably just doing it because it’s loud in the arena and you barely can hear your own words, but it still makes Julian jitter, especially after the weird interview.

“I have to-- uh--” Julian stutters and hates himself for it. He takes a step away, trying to regain control and accidentally backs into Shkodran. He grabs his hand, says, “I have to talk to Shkodran,” and drags him away under Sead’s confused looks.

Julian pulls Shkodran through parts of the crowd until he finds a spot that seems unwatched enough.

“If you wanted a quickie in the bathroom, all you had to do was ask,” Shkodran says flatly.

“What?”

“I don’t know, you’re the one who dragged me here.”

Julian throws a look over his shoulder, somewhere into the direction of where Sead still is, and takes a deep breath.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” he asks. He really needs some clarity and maybe Skhodran is the one to help.

“Sure.” Shkodran tilts his head and looks at Julian like he’s reading something on his face. “So it’s true?”

Julian flinches. Shkodran knows? If there’s a rumour about his-- his _feelings_ going around already, in England no less, then Sead would hear sooner or later. If there’s one thing worse than never telling Sead about how he feels, it’s letting Sead hear it from somebody else. Football players can’t keep their goddamn mouths shut.

Shkodran touches Julian’s shoulder, an act of conspiracy, and asks, “Are you coming now? Or only after the World Cup?”

Julian’s racing mind stops in its tracks. Wait, what?

Shkodran in turn looks at Julian expectantly, but it’s like they suddenly switched into a different conversation.

“Coming where?” Julian asks.

“To us. Arsenal. Are you coming now or in summer?”

“No. No, no. I’m not coming to Arsenal. I never said that!” Julian objects quickly and a little to forcefully probably, because Shkodran leans back and squints at him.

“Wow, relax, Jule. It’s not _that_ unlikely.”

Julian is relieved that Shkodran didn’t know about Sead and him after all, but he didn’t want to head into this direction of the conversation either.

“I thought that’s what you were talking about. That you wanted to ask me about the club or something,” Sead continues.

“No, I--” Julian hesitates and looks around, but the people around have bigger stars to focus on, so he continues more quietly, “I wanted to ask you something about Seo.”

Shkodran’s face falls from intrigued to irritated and he rolls his eyes. “Sead.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, boy.”

“What?”

“Nothing, I just thought you’d transfer, is all. And obviously I’m not the only one thinking that,” Shkodran says and points his thumb over his shoulder, back to where the three of them had the interview together. He doesn’t even need to mention all the tweet and posts and articles.

“Yeah, that whole, uh, story was an accident, I guess. Whoops.”

“Whoops. Right,” Shkodran says. “What _did_ you want ask about Sead?”

Julian frowns. Well. _Does he ever casually mention how he’s endlessly in love with me?_

He settles on, “Does Seo talk about me?”

“We’re all friends, of course he talks about you sometimes. Often. I guess.”

Julian helplessly throws up his arms.

“No, I mean-- does Seo--” Julian stops himself, trying to carefully pick his words. Perhaps he’s chosen the worst place and time possible for this, but that’s just one of his many talents. “Is he, uh… God. Is he dating anyone?”

Shkodran raises his eyebrows and an amused smile tugs at the corner of mouth.

“No,” he replies, then he hesitates as if he’s not sure whether to say the second part as well. “Sead likes you, you know. If that’s your question.”

Julian’s heart does a weird thing that’s probably not all too healthy. “Kind of?” he says.

“Look, I kind of want to watch some basketball, okay? Anything else is between the two of you.”

“Shkodran, please,” Julian almost begs.

“Jule. You’re a great friend, but can you not be difficult for once in your life?”

Shkodran laughs and pushes Julian back into the direction of the court. They take their seats next to Sead who eyes them curiously, but doesn’t ask, thank god.

There’s not a lot of space in the rows so Julian watches most of the match with his thigh pressed to Sead’s, and it’s the reason why he’s a lot more exhausted afterwards than he should be just from _watching_ sports.

It gets a little better in the car back home - Sead’s home - but Sead also sings along to music again and Julian can’t stop staring at his profile, barely illuminated by the streetlights.

Sead definitely notices, but he only throws a couple of looks in Julian’s direction, and when they arrive, he carries Julian’s bag for him again.

Julian is a little jealous of how Sead manages to make his apartment so homely, so lived-in, even if it doesn’t look much different from his own.

Here at Sead’s place he immediately feels welcome to throw himself on the couch with his shoes on. If he was a guest at his own place in Paris, he’d probably be unsure whether he was allowed to enter the rooms at all, because of how white and untouched everything looks.

It was worse in Wolfsburg, when he was sitting in his silent, empty house, staring out of a window into his equally empty garden, realising he had a crush on Sead Kolasinac and dreaming of bigger cities.

Yes, Julian knows he’s never been good at making the right choices.

While he sits down on the couch, Sead pours them both a glass of water and casually asks, “So, about Arsenal?”

The cushion that Julian throws in response only barely misses Sead.

“I’m joking, I’m joking!” Sead assures and laughs loudly. “They were asking Griezmann the same things, by the way. Dunno whether Hashtag Griezi or Hashtag Draxler is trending higher on Gunners twitter right now.”

“Is that a compliment or an insult?”

Sead acts like he has to think about it while he walks over, sits down next to Julian and puts the glasses on the couch table.

“I think it’s a compliment, but you tell me, Mr Stepover,” Sead says and Julian swats at him. He has to laugh, too, though, and it’s probably due to the late hour that they both end up dissolving into a fit of laughter.

After a couple of moments, Julian realises that Sead is staring at him.

His giggle dies down and suddenly it’s very quiet in the room, while Sead continues to look at Julian almost seriously.

“Kinda funny,” Sead says slowly. “You have such a shark grin, you know that?”

“You’ve told me.”

Out of reflex, Julian immediately holds his hand over his mouth. He’s not really self-concious about his smile, but with Sead pointing it out like that, he feels watched.

“Don’t do that,” Sead says. He slides closer on the couch and grabs Julian’s hand to pull it away from his face. “I like your smile.”

Julian drops his hand, and Sead lets his own hand follow, so that his palm rests gently on top of Julian’s fingers on Julian’s leg.

Julian looks up in surprise and finds Sead’s eyes that are gleaming at him. Tense moments pass during which neither of them move, waiting for someone to tell them what to do.

Sead is so close that it’s agonizing and Julian clears his throat nervously.

“Seo, I--” Julian starts in a voice that sounds too high, but he has no idea how to finish the sentence.

Sead nods encouragingly and Julian feels a sting of regret then. For being who he is, and for doing what he did, in general.

He was just a boy sitting in front of another boy, not knowing how to explain that this was never about him going to Arsenal at all.

Except Sead already seems to know, which is everything Julian hoped for.

“Jule, it’s fine,” Sead says and his fingers start stroking across the back of Julian’s hand. Oh, they’re definitely on the same page. Same line even.

“Do you want this?” Julian asks and doesn’t fucking know what he’s going to do if Sead says no. Or if Sead says yes, to be honest.

Luckily, Sead does neither. He smiles, once, quickly, and then leans forward and bridges the last few centimetres between them.

Julian closes his eyes as soon as Sead’s lips touch his.

The kiss is warm and soft, and Julian has a hard time describing the moment at all, because all his thoughts give out.

He can only focus on Sead cautiously tilting his head and on his beard brushing against the corners of Julian’s mouth, and Julian wants him close and closer.

After dreams on end, this is _real_ , and it causes a growing heat to flow through Julian.

Blindly, Julian grasps at air one or two times before he finds Sead’s jacket to cling to. He sighs into the kiss, then he breaks away and leans his forehead against Sead’s.

“Wow,” Sead says, and Julian loves that he sounds a little out of breath.

“Hmm.”

“You don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to do that.”

Julian laughs, hope it doesn’t show how flustered exactly he is. “I think I have a faint idea.”

He remembers how they had talked about the future once - not the league future or the World Cup future, but the future after football. They came up with dumb ideas, but nothing useful, except the feeling that something together would somehow be the thing to do. It only seems more correct now.

“You can still come to Arsenal,” Sead says as he slumps against the back of the couch, never letting go of Julian’s hand. “I mean, whenever.”

Julian can tell that it’s _mostly_ a joke, but it’s okay, because the possibilites are all out there and the rumours are kind of how they got to this point at all.

He’s really happy, which is not to common a feeling for someone like him, someone who’s always sort of been afraid of being outrun by himself.

“Shut up, Seo.”

“Just saying, if you feel like you want to--”

“Seo.”

“Okay, okay,” Seo says and grins, and he probably doesn’t mind at all that Julian climbs in his lap and closes his mouth with a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey recip! I hope you enjoy reading and that it was what you expected from the prompt!
> 
> Thanks to Colleen for having a look at it before posting and thanks to the mods for organising and being patient!
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](http://lahmly.tumblr.com/) and on [twitter](https://twitter.com/kissthecrest).


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